


Stakes

by Trovia



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, POV Minor Character, Rites of Passage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trovia/pseuds/Trovia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No," says Chief. "It's the porn."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stakes

**Stakes**

It's awkward, transferring to Galactica to be a viper pilot. Perry isn't as forward as Kat or as easy as Costanza and the ship is so full of people and activity that he feels left out just by being new. The pilots - the _other_ pilots -, they're friendly enough, but frakking loud, and he doesn't know what to do or say most of the time.

Two days into training, he's been washed out, reinstated, gone from Donald Perry to just Chuckles and still feels like he should be back on Faru Sadin. He traded work for food back there. He didn't bring anything. He didn't have anything to bring and that's mostly why he came, because he thought there must be more for him here, more of something, anything.

"You want to take a seat, nugget?" asks the CAG - what's his name, Apollo -, looking up at him from one of the card games in the rec room. A couple of others are there, eyeing him but in a friendly way. That's fine with Chuckles, except -

"Sorry, can't," he mutters, glancing at the cards in longing. "Got nothing I can use for stakes."

The day after that, he lands his viper scratching the chassis just a bit. No critical damage at all, which is new, and Thrace or God or whatever just stands there for a second, looking at him. Then she nods. Gods know he's actually proud of that.

Kat wants to drag him off to celebrate but he can't and its getting so frakking ridiculous, but he still has nothing he can use for stakes. He can't trade for anything, really, he changed his civilian - civvie - clothes for an extra uniform. He didn't bring much of anything except a couple sheets of paper and a pen and really, paper's the one thing he might have enough of on Galactica.

He stays on the hangar deck to check on the chassis himself because it's his ship now and he nods at Chief Tyrol who's talking to a lieutenant Chuckles thinks was introduced to him as Gaeta.

"Really," the Chief is saying, shaking his head gravely. "I checked with the engine crew. The Chrion, too, and a deckhand I know from Thera Sita. It's like the cylons blew it all up in the attacks just to hit us double."

Lt. Gaeta tilts his head, thinking. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time until some shows up," he says as if he isn't sure at all. "Chief, I have half of the CIC breathing down my neck, and now Dr. Baltar has started asking..."

Chief shrugs. "Sorry, sir."

Curiously, Chuckles puts his head out from under the viper. "We still short on water?" he asks, then remembers where he is and adds "sir."

"No," says Chief. "It's the porn."

Chuckles blinks.

"Porn," the lieutenant adds matter-of-factly. "We're running out of it. Or really, getting bored with the little we have. There is some on board, of course, but it's hard to find without networked computers and people won't trade." He smirks. "It's bad for morale."

"It's becoming a problem," finishes Chief.

Chuckles blinks.

There's kind of a lull in the conversation right there.

Gaeta raises his eyebrows. "You wouldn't happen to know of a secret stash, Recruit?"

"Uhm," says Chuckles. "No." Pause. "Sir."

"Dr. Baltar is going to kill me," mutters the lieutenant and sighs. "Carry on then Chief, Recruit."

And Chuckles watches them leave and thinks that it's frakking weird sometimes, being on a battlestar. You expect that everything would be different from Faru Sadin and all the other civilian - civvie, _civvie_ \- ships, what with being a viper pilot instead of a boonie jumper. With all the call signs, ranks and uniforms, it's frakking intimidating, that's what it is. Especially the times when it's exactly like everywhere else.

Scrambling out from under the viper, he got a thought, though. So he forgets about the chassis, and five minutes later, he's in his bunk, Hot Dog and Kat are nowhere in sight, and he pulls his paper out from under the rack.

Chuckles grins. He stares at the blank page for a moment, thinking. He hasn't done this for ages, not since he was big on _Star Cruiser Triton_ as a teen but, whatever. It isn't that hard and the fact that he hasn't gotten any for months doesn't exactly make it harder, either. He's cumulated lots of nice ideas, just never thought of writing them down.

His grin broadens and he starts scribbling.

\--- 

He spends half his rack time on it and he doesn't care that he fraks up the landing again the morning after. He's positively giddy. Thrace dresses him down in godly fury and between flinching he's thinking up what kink would suit a character like her in a story. Something with machine oil and showers – not that imaginative, but it's a start.

Shower, food, change of clothes and then he's standing in the rec room, looking for the card table. Thrace and Gaeta, Crashdown and that nutcase Baltar, they're all there. There's a spot open for him and he sits down, waiting for Baltar to deal him in.

Chuckles pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, throws it on the table.

"What's that?" Thrace asks, frowning.

"That," Chuckles says. "is porn."

There's a moment of stillness.

Then everybody moves at once. Chairs topple over.

A hustle ensues and Thrace captures the sheet. She wrestles herself free from Crashdown's grasp and flees to a corner of the room with a triumphant laugh, jumping up and down while she unfolds it and starts reading. And reading some more.

Nervously, Chuckles watches her face grow still.

So does everybody else in the room. In the corner of his eye, Chuckles sees that Gaeta is leaning forward expectantly. To his left, Baltar jerks his head irritably, telling the room as a whole not to bother him _now_.

Thrace smirks.

"Holy frak!" she exclaims. "Chuckles! Who knew you had it in you."

"Is it _good_?" Gaeta asks.

"Frak, yeah, it's hot."

Chuckles feels a grin split his face.

Thrace crashes down on her chair hard, rubbing her hands.

"Alright. Let's get this transaction over with quickly, gentlemen."

"There's more where that came from, right?"

"Hurry the frak up..."

"My _pleasure_ to deal you in, Mr. Perry."

Excitement's hanging in the air there for a moment, so thick Chuckles can almost taste it. He hasn't felt like this before on Galactica, not anywhere since the colonies were destroyed. It's a feeling of childish glee, glorious and random. For once, a moment in their lives revolves around something that's important just because they all agree that it should be. It's porn, after all. It's a basic need, like food.

A minute later, Chuckles picks up his cards. He looks at them, and laughs.

It's the worst hand he's had in his life.


End file.
